Robert Hughes: The Prophet of Lamath

“You mean you’ve been here before? But you’re not a merchant, how could you—”

“The merchants and the raiders are not the only ones who travel the world. In my profession, you either have to change your act regularly or else change your location. I find it much easier to change location.”

“Then you’ve performed here before?” she asked, truly interested in him now as this new revelation sank in.

Once again he smiled, but more to himself this time than at her. Yes, he had “performed” here before. But not as Bronwynn conceived it. He stood. “We need something more than green apples to sustain us, I think. I find it hard to believe that Pezi would travel anywhere without a good healthy provision of food in his storage bags. I’ll check.”

Pelmen walked to the saddle which sat now in the grass, and began to go through the sacks attached to it.

Bronwynn wandered toward the west, listening to the wind rock the branches. The sky turned pink behind the mountains as the sun dropped swiftly behind them, and once again she was stabbed by the strange desire to be there, on one of those distant peaks, visible only in outline now.

“Will we be going there?” she asked, hiding her hope behind an air of nonchalance. Pelmen glanced up to see which way she was looking, then smiled to himself as he gathered up the food he’d found and walked toward her.

“The mountains have witched you,” he murmured as he came up behind her.

“No they haven’t, what do you mean?” she said, but her protests were dreamy and vague, for her mind was far away.

“Yes they have.” He sighed. “And you know what I mean.” She didn’t look at him, so he continued, looking now himself on the valley darkening below them and the outline of those far cliffs against the sunset. “Don’t be too surprised, Bronwynn, at anything you see in Ngandib-Mar. It is a land of magic and witches, and powers ride on the winds, available for use by whomever can control them.” She said nothing, but watched. He looked at her—her face was a golden-pink in the rays of the waning sun—and he could not bring himself to break that spell of wonder just yet.

Instead he spoke quietly, soothingly. “Yes, we’ll go there, my Lady. I have a friend who holds some lands on the far side of those hills. His keep will be open to us, as well as his heart. You may even find reason to remain there. You could do worse. Much worse,” he muttered to himself, then he turned his back on the valley and sat in the grass. In a few moments the daylight was gone, and Bronwynn turned wistfully away.

The meadow was dark now, its mood of warm invitation having passed with the sunlight. “We’re not staying here tonight, are we?” she asked in a voice tinged with fear.

“Amazing,” Pelmen said to himself. “What a difference a little light can make. No, Bronwynn, we won’t be staying here or anywhere else tonight. We’ve a long way to go, and before long merchant riders will be trailing us. You’ll need all the strength you can muster. So eat, and thank Pezi for planning such a hog’s feast. We have enough food here for forty—plenty to get us to the castle of Dorlyth without having to stop.” Bronwynn knelt in the grass beside him, and they ate in silence. As she chewed, she thought over his words regarding the powers on the winds. The people of Chaomonous laughed at such stories, and called them superstitions. Yet as Bronwynn watched the night bleed darkly through the meadow, she felt sure that a gay, bright power had left, and that a darker, sinister power had taken its place. She moved self-consciously closer to Pelmen, trying to gain strength and comfort from being near him. Pelmen, aware, ate leisurely. There would be plenty of time to rush, to act. Now it was time to ponder—and to plan well.

In the pitch blackness above the pass there was a mighty rush of massive reptilian wings thrashing the air, then the quiet plop of dragon feet touching softly down into the dusty ground. Vicia-Heinox had come home. Though no man had ever been fool enough to attempt the pass at night, the dragon made double sure he was alone. He did not rely solely on his keen sense of hearing, but vindictively shot great jets of heat in every direction, searing out any trace of greenery that might have taken root between the rocks. Though hardly in harmony, the two heads had concluded that the safety of each depended on some measure of cooperation. Having thoroughly torched the area, they turned back to the business of settling this insane dispute.

Vicia reared back and screamed at the brilliant stars in keen frustration. Heinox growled at him: “Do I have to do that?”

Heinox shook himself to clear his ears.

“Something must be done,” Vicia snarled.

“About what?”

“I was talking to myself,” Vicia muttered.

“I am myself,” Heinox reminded Vicia, and Vicia lay down in the dirt and moaned.

“I must do something to make it clear when I mean I, and when I mean I. Ahhh!” Vicia groaned, “it’s no use.”

“Something must be done,” Heinox agreed.

“I said that already.”

“I know.” Heinox, too, lay down on the ground. “This is why I ought to learn to count,” Heinox sighed.

“Why?”

“So I could know which I was speaking.”

“Why would that help?”

“I could number my heads. I could be one number, and I could be another number.” Excited, Vicia popped up into the sky. “That’s it! I could be one number, and I could be another number!”

“Do I think it’s a good idea?” Heinox asked, his own excitement growing.

“I think it’s a wonderful idea!”

“Very well, I’ll do it!” Heinox shouted. “The next caravan that passes, I’ll force the captain to teach me how to count, and then I’ll number me! I’ll be one number, and I’ll be the other number!” The two heads looked at each other, rejoicing, one might even say smiling if dragons could smile. But as they looked one another in the eye it dawned on them that they really hadn’t settled anything at all. Both heads sank once again into the dust, exhausted by the day-long struggle.

“Heinox,” said Vicia, “how am I ever going to be able to know which head is which?”

“I don’t know, Vicia,” Heinox answered in despair. “I don’t know.”

PEZI BOUNCED from side to side, struggling to hold his seat as the little mare under him trotted up the cobblestones.

He felt like a pullybone, being cut apart by the thinness of his horse and the weight of his own belly. Nor was he at all happy about the news he was about to deliver. He had already instructed his assistant to listen very closely to the details of the story as he presented them to his uncle. This the young merchant was only too happy to do, since he had missed most of the action in his unconscious state, and didn’t want his fainting spells to become public knowledge. The young fellow if speaking to a child. The change in tone so frightened the fat merchant that he trembled visibly.

“How did it happen, Pezi?”

“I… it was… the dragon, sir, he—”

“What about the dragon, Pezi? Come now, relax. Stand up like a man, and tell me what happened.” Flayh reached down to help Pezi up. His manner was kindly, but that only shook Pezi more. Had Pezi’s knees not been padded with such a thick layer of flesh, they surely would have knocked together audibly.

“The dragon, he—he went crazy, he—”

“What?”

“He went crazy! Insane! I’ve never seen him so disturbed!”

“Start at the beginning.”

“Well of course, it was an unusual caravan in the first place. Too early, he said. That roused his suspicions. Then, too, a troop of Chaons was chasing us into Dragonsgate just as we were reaching the pass! The dragon went down to frighten them off. I’m sure that made him more suspicious. He wanted to see my cargo. Of course I couldn’t hide her, carrying her in the royal litter as we were, so—”